


Prince Charming

by agent85



Series: Written Before Season 2 [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post season 1 AU: Fitz gets the last breath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he hears the heart monitor continue to beep, he leans over to smooth her hair back and plant a soft kiss on her hairline. He wishes he were Prince Charming, and that the kiss would be magical enough to wake her up and make everything okay again. Isn't this a time for true love's kiss?</p>
<p>[Post-season 1 AU: Fitz gets the last breath]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prince Charming

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the triangular theory of love: http://bit.ly/193Ln7E.

When he promises that he won't smash anything else, they agree to let him see her again. 

But they have May escort him, just in case.

He's calmer today. He has to be.

As he hears the heart monitor continue to beep, he leans over to smooth her hair back and plant a soft kiss on her hairline. He wishes he were Prince Charming, and that the kiss would be magical enough to wake her up and make everything okay again. Isn't this a time for true love's kiss?

He spent the last few days locked in his room, doing research, if you can call it that. He now knows the triangular theory of love, and he can easily check off each corner of the diagram.

He is intimate with her in the sense that he knows her well enough to tell what she's about to say before she says it, and vice versa, to the point where he can debate her as she's talking because she doesn't need a moment to come up with a counterpoint; she knows his argument before he makes it. 

He is committed to her enough to jump on a plane and follow her around the globe, because there is this unspoken promise that they'll never part.

And the crowning criterion, passion, is evident in the way the sound of her voice makes his heart flutter, the way he has to stop himself from looking at her lips and dreaming. 

Aren't these the three ingredients to consummate love? Shouldn't that be enough to wake her?

He had taken her for granted, before. He had thought that they would be together, side by side, into eternity. He never thought that friendship never works that way. It wasn't until he saw her jump heroically to her death that he really thought that he could lose her. 

It wasn't until she called him a hero and kissed him on the cheek that he realized he'd do anything to keep her.

After that moment, it was like he was seeing her for the first time. Suddenly, he was spending his days side by side with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, understanding that she is everything he wants, but if he messed it up, she would be gone forever.

So he became a coward, learning to hate himself as he learned to love her.

That must be why the kiss won't work—he's not Prince Charming. He's a toad.

He stays by her side, night and day, becoming more of a mess every minute. His hands twitch with the urge to throw something, but he does what he has to do to stay near her.

He looks at her serene face and is attacked by a memory of her crying, screaming at him to let them find another way. And just as he turns to press the button, she lunges towards him and presses the oxygen mask against his lips.

He tries not to remember the panic and confusion, the way the glass blew in, and for a second, he couldn't see her. He tries to forget how frantically he reached for her, how much he needed to find her, and when he did, how determined he was to bring her to the surface. So he held her with his broken arm, ignoring the excruciating pain as he used his good arm to swim upwards. He'll have surgery tomorrow; hopefully they will be able to get the breaks to set right. If not, a crippled arm will be the least of his worries.

He watches her chest rise and fall and he wants to outline the edge of her jaw, to press kisses all over her, like she did once to him. He longs to taste her lips.

It would be wrong, though. Especially when he had tried to show her how much he loves her, and she had refused to let him. Or was there something she was trying to show him? Until he knew for sure, a gentle kiss on the forehead was all he dared to give.

But, he stays with her. He doesn't know how to fix her, but he can make sure that she is never alone.

Besides, he thinks, he's alone any time he isn't with her.

Sometimes, when he brushes a strand of hair away from her face, he remembers the determination in her eyes as she slammed the mask over his mouth, and he wonders what she meant by it. Does she reject his feelings? Does she share them?

One day, when she wakes up (please let her wake up), he will have to find the courage to ask her.

Hopefully, she'll have an answer.

He's been doing research on her condition, too. He doesn't know much about medicine, but he's become something of an expert on the possible consequences of almost drowning. Before they were plunged into the depths of the sea, his biggest fear was that she wouldn't be able to love him. Now, he is plagued by the fear that she won't even remember him. If he isn't a part of her life, then what is he?

After a while, Coulson puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and reminds him that he is needed as an engineer. So a workbench is set up in her room, right next to his cot. It feels good to tinker again, to work with things he can actually fix. It feels better to know that she won't be alone.

After an eternity of debate, he decides that he was glad that he told her. If this is the end (please don't let it be the end), at least she would know that she was loved. At least he won't have to carry the burden of his cowardice for the rest of his life.

But there are a thousand things he didn't say. He didn't tell her why, or how he loved her. He didn't tell her when it started, or what he wanted to give. But he hopes that his inarticulate words told her, at the very least, told her who he wanted to be to her, and where he wanted them to go.

When she finally opens her eyes, his project crashes to the floor as he rushes to her side. His hand is on hers before he stops to wonder if she even wants him there. But she smiles at him, and gives his hand a squeeze. 

"Fitz," she moans.

Maybe the kiss worked, it just needed a little time to sink in.

"Jemma," he says, the tears falling from his eyes to her cheeks. He cups her jaw and gently brushes them away with his thumb.

He's holding the most precious thing in the world, and she is reaching to cover his hand with hers.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice hoarse. 

"Am _I_ okay? You're the one in a hospital bed."

"Well," she counters, a smile forming in one corner of her mouth, "you're the one who's crying." 

He is now torn between laughter and sobs. Her words are pained, but they prove that she still knows him, that he is still a part of her.

He must be overcome with hysteria, because he starts to close the short distance between them, stopping just a millimeter short of crashing his lips into hers. He's paralyzed, feeling the warmth of her breath on his skin. He's about to pull away in unadulterated humiliation before her hand is on his cheek, and she's kissing him.

Her lips are chapped, but the kiss is slow and sweet and over far too soon. He watches her in questioning shock, and she gives him a mischievous smile.

_Of course_ , he thinks, utterly lost in her. _It's_ her _kisses that are magic_.


End file.
